The Sky Isles of Lioaratheia

The training flight over Veltridge Field had left a mark—not just in the air, but on the team itself. Something shifted between Ardyn and the rest of the Cirrans that day. Sedge and Kael, once aloof and skeptical, no longer looked at him like a clumsy tagalong.

 Since that day, the team had grown tighter. Their routines became more fluid, their formations sharper, and even the teasing turned good-natured. Training became a rhythm they all moved to—exhausting, relentless, but somehow energizing. Ardyn found himself pulled into it fully, no longer on the outside looking in.

 Over the next month, he trained alongside the others in full-team sessions, but also began rotating through personal drills with the veterans. With Sedge, it was precision—tight turns, speed control, striking angles, and reading wind shifts mid-dash. Sedge rarely praised, but occasionally muttered a terse, "Not bad," which felt like a medal.

 Kael was different—rough around the edges, and absolutely merciless in combat drills. But Ardyn didn't mind the bruises. Kael taught him how to handle pressure with grit and how to stay up when someone's trying to knock the wind out of your chestplate. More than once, Ardyn was left gasping on the ground, grinning through the ache.

 Time blurred in wind and sweat, and just like that, a month passed.

 Now, with the sun hovering lower each day and the wind turning sharper, the Skytest loomed only a week away.

 Ardyn sat near the overlook just beyond the hangar, a folded note in his hands and a Sky-Glider Drone idling beside him. He'd written and rewritten the letter at least five times, unsure of what to say. In the end, he kept it simple—thanking Maren, telling him the Skytest was near, and that he hoped to return with something to be proud of.

 He'd thought about visiting the old man in person. But part of him feared Maren would just wave him off again. And the other part… the other part wasn't sure he could say goodbye without making it harder to leave.

 He placed the letter in the drone's delivery slot and sealed the latch. A soft hum filled the air as the glider's wings caught the breeze, lifting it into the late afternoon sky—small, steady, and drifting toward home.

 "You sure you don't want to visit Maren before we go?" Captain Seris asked.

 Ardyn brushed his hair back and shook his head in reply.

 Seris studied him for a moment, then nodded slightly. "Is it your first time leaving Windmere?"

 "Yeah," Ardyn said. "I've never been to another isle before."

 "Then rest well tonight," Seris said. "We leave early tomorrow."

 He shifted the pack off his shoulder and held it out to Ardyn.

 Ardyn blinked, taking the bag with a furrowed brow. "What's this?"

 "Open it," Seris said, smiling.

 Unfastening the latches, Ardyn lifted the flap—and froze.

 Inside was a fresh set of Galegear: sleek, polished, and unmistakably new. The metal had a faint silver-blue sheen, and the shoulder harness was etched with the Windmere crest. He carefully pulled one of the gauntlets free, noting how light it felt in his hands—and then he saw it. Embedded in the core was an Aerolith pulsing with a cool, vibrant blue.

 "That's not Roe's old Galegear," Seris said, folding his arms. "Those are custom-made. And take a guess about the Aeroliths."

 Ardyn leaned closer, fingers brushing over the glowing stone. "Is this… Pops' Aerolith?"

 "Exactly," Seris said. "The stone was too large to embed as-is, so we had it split and recut. One shard for each core."

 Ardyn stared at it, the familiar energy already tugging at something inside him.

 "Engineers confirmed it's a rare one," Seris said. "Start syncing with it. But I don't think you'll have a hard time. That one's already reacting to you."

* * *

Dawn broke in pale grey layers, the sky still heavy with sleep as the Windmere Cirran team gathered at the departure docks.

 A massive airship hovered at the edge of the platform, its hull gleaming faintly in the soft morning light. It wasn't a ship built for stealth or speed—it was built to carry. Wide, reinforced wings curved from its sides like glider fins, gently adjusting with the wind currents. A series of wind rotors along its spine hummed steadily, casting faint ripples in the mist around it. The hull was matte steel with streaks of deep navy, and the name "The Loria" was etched in sweeping script along the bow.

 Ardyn followed behind the others as they approached the ship, their boots clicking against the long arched stairway that stretched from the platform to the main deck. The crew stood waiting near the top, checking names and hauling gear as the Cirran team stepped aboard one by one.

 When Ardyn's boots met the deck, he turned for a brief second to look back.

 A dockhand unlatched the gangway, and with a practiced hiss and clank, the stairway began folding in on itself, retracting into the side of the ship. A final clunk signaled it had sealed.

 A minute passed in silence.

 Then the ship groaned—low and deep—and began to rise.

 Wind caught beneath its frame, and with a steady lift, the Loria began to drift away from the Windmere docks. Ardyn felt the tug in his chest, like something stretching—not breaking, but not whole either.

 His emotions were split down the middle. A bubbling excitement stirred inside him for what lay ahead—for the Skytest, for flying over new isles, for proving he belonged. But a quiet ache gnawed beneath it all. He hadn't seen Maren. Not really. Not face to face. He had left without a proper goodbye.

 As the ship climbed higher, Windmere's clustered isles pulled back into view. The morning fog clung to their edges, soft and unmoving. Here and there, clusters of warm lights still glowed from homes and towers—flickering softly like lanterns floating in a bowl of grey.

 The wind shifted around the hull as the ship picked up speed, and Windmere began to fall behind.

 Ardyn gripped the railing, watching his home shrink, until it was no more than a quiet shape fading into the sky.

 "Have you heard the story of Old Man Aerun?" a familiar voice came from behind.

 Ardyn turned—and smiled. "Roe. No, I don't think I've heard that one."

 He took a step closer, then paused, eyeing Roe's right hand. "Hey… you're not wearing the bandage anymore. I didn't even notice earlier."

 Roe held up his arm and flexed his fingers slowly. "Yeah. I can move it better now. Still not that strong, but it's getting there."

 "That's great to hear," Ardyn said, genuinely. "So… Old Man Aerun?"

 Roe grinned faintly and leaned against the railing beside him, eyes drifting down toward the endless stretch of clouds below.

 "My great-grandfather used to tell me stories about Old Man Aerun," he said. "He was Windmere's most daring glider back in his day. One time, while flying over Veltridge Field, a sudden gust—just like the one you rode—caught his glider and tore it off course. Sent him spiraling straight down." Roe pointed toward the churning mist far beneath them. "They say he vanished into the clouds. Gone."

 Ardyn's eyes widened.

 "A few weeks later," Roe continued, "Aerun came back. Walked into Windmere like nothing happened. But he never spoke again. Not a word. Instead, he started drawing—sketches of places no one had ever seen before. A vast, endless water, with one gigantic island rising out of it."

 "Endless water?" Ardyn asked, brow furrowed.

 Roe nodded. "Yeah. Imagine the clouds below us—but it's all water. Just water stretching forever."

 Ardyn stared down again, the swirling greys suddenly heavier. "But… the winds below the clouds are too violent. That's what I read. If anything passes through, it gets pulled down—crushed or torn apart. Even the biggest airships won't risk going near."

 "Exactly," Roe said. "That's why most folks say Old Man Aerun was lying. Just a cracked old glider spinning stories. But…" He shrugged. "We may never really know."

 "Let's go inside," Roe said, pushing off the railing. "Breakfast might be ready."

 Ardyn gave the clouds one last glance, the story of Old Man Aerun still circling in his thoughts. He wasn't sure if he believed it—but a part of him hoped it was true. That there was more waiting below the sky than anyone dared to imagine.

 He turned and followed Roe across the deck, the chill of dawn easing as the ship's interior doors slid open with a soft hiss. The scent of something warm—eggs, maybe bread—drifted out to meet them.